


Knives Out

by alex_wh0



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew might or might not be turned on by that, Exy (All For The Game), M/M, Neil uses knives, aftg, no violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/pseuds/alex_wh0
Summary: A Raven finds himself at the wrong end of Neil's (Andrew's) knives. The Foxes are surprised, Renee is appreciative and Andrew is feeling hot all over.There's no actual violence. No Ravens were harmed during the making of this fic.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 16
Kudos: 413





	Knives Out

It is not every day that the Foxes were collectively stunned into silence. But then, witnessing someone throw six knives in quick succession in under 10 seconds was not a regular occurrence.

They watched as Neil made his way to the Raven, who was now pinned to the wall of the lounge by two knives at the hem of his jersey, one in the netting of his exy racquet, and two quivering millimeters from the man’s ear and neck.

Neil stood inches away from the player, lifting a finger to tilt his chin up. “What did I tell you?” he rasped out, voice shaking with anger and barely suppressed disgust. “What did I tell you?” he repeated, eyes flashing. The Raven glared at Neil, who just pushed a knife deeper into the plaster. Nicky let out an incoherent sound, shattering the strained atmosphere. “Calm down, Nicky, I’m not going to kill him,” Neil said, without turning around.

“You shouldn’t even be here. Now, what do we do with you?” he said softly, dragging a knife through the racquet, shredding the net. The man tensed, but Neil’s grip was like iron around his wrists. 

At the sound of a door slamming near the entrance, Andrew stepped forward. “Neil,” he said, warning in his tone.

Neil took a step back, and addressed the Raven, “Listen you piece of scum. If you or your teammates come near us again, I’ll make sure the knives stick to the wall through your body, not your jersey. Riko is dead and you all are a bunch of broken of shits with inflated egos who don’t know what the hell you are doing,” he snapped. “Don’t touch Kevin or me or any of us again. Get the fuck out now.”

“What’s going on here?” Wymack’s voice came from the doorway a moment later. Neil hoisted the Raven to his feet, knives nowhere to be seen. “Just being friendly with the enemy,” he remarked cheerfully, showing the now-shaking player the door.

The Raven rushed out, probably glad to be alive, but shot them a look of pure loathing nevertheless.

“I’m not paid enough for this,” Wymack sighed, running a hand across his forehead.

The tense silence dissipated as the Foxes started moving. Dan, Matt and Allison headed to the lockers, while Kevin sank into the couch, Nicky and Aaron at his side. Renee gave him a small smile, and went out. Neil turned to find Andrew looking at him with something indecipherable in his eyes. He tilted his head toward the door and left.

When Andrew came out of the locker room, he found Renee waiting for him. He quirked an eyebrow at her in silent question, and she shook her head.

“I didn’t know he knew how to throw knives,” she said, at length. “His technique is impressive,” she remarked, recalling the way Neil’s hands had shot beneath his armbands, pulling out knife after knife and rapidly flinging them at the Raven without actually hurting him.

“Yeah,” Andrew managed to say, remembering with vivid clarity the way Neil’s eyes had flashed, his mouth curving up into an unforgiving sneer, and felt a foreign feeling well up in him.

“Will he teach us?”

“Why do you need teaching,” he asked, curious.

Renee shrugged, “I can always be better.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll ask,” Andrew slung his bag on his shoulder and swept past her to his car outside.

**

Andrew came out of the shower, still tired. Matches against Ravens were always intense; anxiety was a constant thrum in his head as he was constantly on the edge, ready to lash out. But today, Neil had taken care of it. Andrew was seldom taken by surprise, the capacity to feel beaten out of him, but that afternoon, he felt the jagged edge of a foreign feeling sluice through him as he watched Neil’s hands blur, the knives slipping out of them with practised ease, hitting the plaster with a sharp _thwack thwack thwack._

The dorm was empty; Neil and Kevin had stayed back with Wymack and Dan to talk about the upcoming match. He dug around the freezer for ice cream, scowling when he found it empty. The fridge was nearly empty, so he dribbled chocolate sauce over some bananas he found in the kitchen and settled on his desk. Amid the constant stream of _how, where and holy shit that was hot_ running through his mind, Andrew felt something akin to satisfaction. Neil was an idiot, but he was a menacing idiot.

_His menacing idiot._

He touched his armbands – the knives were back, a steady weight against his arms, and scooped up more of the banana-chocolate-sugar mash.

**

They were on the roof that night, Andrew’s fingers in Neil’s collar, pulling him closer, his lips more urgent, tongue exploring with a need more frantic than usual. When Neil made a noise low in his throat, it took everything Andrew had in him to not jump him completely. “Andrew,” Neil gasped, his name rolling off tongue with an unspoken reverence.

“Andrew.” He pulled away, and lit a cigarette, leaving Neil hanging.

“Last year, when Renee offered you the knives, you said you won’t take them.” It was more of a statement than a question, but Neil knew better.

“Yes.”

Andrew threw him an assessing glance, but tilted his head, asking him to continue.

Neil took a deep breath. “Lola taught me how to use them. By the time I was six, she was training me on animals. She was great with knives, and I was a fast learner,” he said, looking at the ground below from his perch on the ledge.

“But I hate how they make me feel,” he whispered. “The power, the rush of adrenaline, the idea that I’ll turn into my father.” He felt Andrew’s hand on his neck at that, grip strong, grounding, fingers rubbing circles on his skin. He looked up to find Andrew’s gaze on him, the words “you’re not him, you’ll never be him” ringing out louder than the silence enveloping them.

“Will you take a few?” Andrew said, and Neil shook his head. “Will you teach me then,” he asked, feeling Neil go still beside him.

“Maybe,” Neil breathed out, and Andrew pulled him back into a bruising kiss.

Andrew felt the ground tilt as he kissed Neil that night, something foreign thumping through him, pulling him forward, urgent and ferocious and fast. He couldn’t figure out what it was and it bothered him.

“Wait, did that _turn you on_ ,” Neil asked, incredulity colouring his voice as they broke apart for air. Andrew glared at him.

“Sometimes you can be such an idiot,” he grumbled, even as Neil turned his head to hide a smile.

**

Later, as he lay in bed, with the wall behind his back and Neil tucked under his arm, head pillowed on his chest, he realized with a jolt what it was – the feeling that had been surging through him the whole day, leaving him slightly off-kilter and dazed.

He ran his fingers through auburn curls and lay back in the silence.

_Admiration. He recognized it as admiration._

Fucking Josten and his knives and his stupid blue eyes. Idiot. Andrew pulled him closer and went to sleep, feeling suspiciously content.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading this. Say hi to me on [Tumblr](https://alex-wh0.tumblr.com/) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alex_wh0).


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